


Not a threat - a promise

by Applesith



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Canon Compliant, Drunken Flirting, Drunkenness, F/M, Female Masturbation, Force Bond (Star Wars), Gloves, In Character, Masturbation, Mention of - Freeform, Mention of Character Death, Mutual Pining, POV Rey (Star Wars), Post TLJ, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, References to the Novelization, Rey had a drink or two, Scholar Ben Solo/Kylo Ren, Sensuality, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Star Wars Lore, The Force Bond Opens at Awkward Times, The Force Ships It, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vomiting, and, bed sharing, but not at the same time!, working together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-04-24 17:18:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14360019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Applesith/pseuds/Applesith
Summary: The Force works in mysterious ways. After Rey had a few drinks at a Resistance's get-together she's mortified to discover Kylo Ren sitting on her bed. The only way to end this embarrassing session: work out what the Force needs from them.





	1. Moonshine and Heartache

**Author's Note:**

> What would a very long post-TLJ Force-Skype call look like? 
> 
> Potential Spoiler Alert: This story is referencing events depicted in the novelization/deleted scenes.

The cheers and laughter of the Resistance fighters follow Rey as she staggers out of the mess hall. Despite Poe's amused and somewhat patronizing warnings, nothing really prepared her for the fuzzy feeling and the throbbing. So much throbbing.

Even her gait feels heavier, more sluggish. As if somebody paved the way to her quarters with rubber or transported her back to Jakku where she used to trudge for hours through the dunes, scavenging for scraps under the scorching sun.

Unlike the unforgiving surface of her home planet, however, the corridors of the Imperial base in which the Resistance squats are dark, warm, flat and even. And before she knows it, Rey's unsteady legs have carried her by the Communications room. Out of habit, perhaps, or out of curiosity, she stops at the door, and takes a timid peek inside.

Kaydel's domain, usually so busy, is eerily quiet, its antiquated equipment blinking idly and beeping softly under the watchful eye of two officers on duty.

Another day without being discovered by The First Order.

A relief, considering half the Resistance fighters are currently arm in arm singing war anthems, while the rest of them are happily tucked in the narrow bunks of the barracks. The consequences of an attack would be disastrous, no doubt.

Sensing her presence, one of the officers lifts his sandy-haired head from the screen he's watching intently to look in her direction. His brow furrows and he squints, trying to identify the intruder. If she trusts her intoxicated brain, the officer is a pretty boy in his early twenties, with dark eyes and lush lips floating above a strong square jaw.

As soon as he recognizes _the Jedi_ —Luke Skywalker's last student—he squares his shoulders and jumps to his feet to greet her with a formal salute.

"Ma'am!"

Bewildered, Rey stares back with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

Despite being about the same age, when this pretty boy looks at her, he doesn't see a girl— _a woman_ —he sees something else, some kind of war veteran or royalty.

A legend.

A monster.

Rey's cheeks redden under his questioning gaze. She knows he wants to ask if he can help. They all do. They all have questions. But she doesn't want to talk right now, especially to a cute guy. Instead, she waves her hand awkwardly.

"Good night!" she blurts out—and scurries away, before she can make a bigger fool of herself.

It's only when she's sure the pretty boy hasn't followed her that Rey slows down to regain her breath. The combination of alcohol, half-panic and shame makes her heart beat faster and her head pound even more furiously than before. She's dizzy and only wants to hide in the safety of her quarters.

It's embarrassing enough to endure the constant attention when she's sober—the last thing Rey needs tonight is a well-meaning kid from some mining world who has recently joined the Resistance following her around yammering about how awesome and inspiring she is and what a fantastic mentor Luke Skywalker must have been.

None of those statements are true, yet the tales of Luke's exploits on Crait have spread like wildfire across the galaxy and inspired a new generation of freedom fighters. As they should. It's not like she can shatter dreams, can she? Reveal the truth—that Master Skywalker taught her nothing. That he believed the Jedi needed to die. That he tried to murder his nephew. No! No one is more qualified than Rey to understand how hearing from the mouth of your heroes that they're not who you think they were; that they're flawed and scared like everybody else, can have devastating consequences. Rey understands that hope is a weapon that can be shattered as easily as the housing of a lightsaber.

Hoping no one notices, she rushes mindlessly through the corridors and only stops when coming to a junction she doesn't recognize. Her mouth twists into a grimace.  How is she even supposed to rebuild the Jedi when she can't even find her way back to her room?

An idea comes to her mind though. She scrunches her face, trying to reach out with the Force rather than using her dull senses.

Breathe.

That's what Master Skywalker had told her on Ahch-To—Right before interrupting her meditation with a nasty slap.

Despite the unwelcome recollection, a renewed sense of awareness fills Rey's mind at the mere reminder of the stone temple standing, unchanging and eternal, in the middle of the ocean.

She sucks in a sharp breath.

_In, and out._

Responding to her gentle solicitation the Force shifts and sways around her like a peaceful sea and the air stills. A warm tingle starts spreading; like invisible fingers pulling at her left hand.

"Thank you," she whispers, grateful for the guidance. Even the awful pounding in her skull has recessed to nothing more than a thrum now.

Relieved, Rey saunters confidently into the next corridor—and fails to notice one of the cables running throughout the base.

"Kriff!"

For a second that stretches beyond eternity, she flails for purchase, arms flapping in the air as elegantly as a baby steelpecker leaving the nest for the first time.

Had she carried her quarterstaff, she would plant it firmly to the ground to regain balance. But she had to leave it in her room, hadn't she? It seems that since she left Jakku, she's becoming stupid, sloppy.

Almost resigned, she braces herself for impact, preparing her body to meet the cold, unforgiving floor.

_No!_

To her own surprise, Rey's Jedi reflexes kick-in and before she can comprehend what is happening, her hands are pushing away from the ground like she saw Luke do on Ahch-To after she smacked him on the head, throwing her backward on her feet almost as if she meant to. Perhaps, she has learned something from the old Master, after all.

"I swear I will never drink again," she mutters, an air of relief mixed with incredulity etched on her face.

For once, that statement is probably correct.

The mixture brewed by Nnips behind the hangar bay is about as clear as the motor oil Chewbacca smuggles from behind First Order lines—and it tastes only slightly better. Fat chance Rey could ever take a liking to the stuff.

Tonight was just an exception. A much-needed diversion from the war.

And it was fun.

For the most part.

Besides, even the stern Caretakers enjoy a night of respite and festivities once in a while, don't they? An outlook on life and duty the Jedi seemed to have disagreed with according to her research.

That's the reason why, despite craving the social interaction and the distraction as much as everybody else around the base, Rey has always managed to dodge her friends' invitations to Nnips' infamous get-togethers so far.

The drinking, the singing, and the flirting? Not for her. Not proper. Not the way of the Jedi. Apparently, being a Jedi is about being more than you are—and wallowing.

Again, she had excuses for not joining Finn and Rose prior to tonight. Good reasons actually.

The first time, she was away with Leia on a secret mission that would secure a significant number of credits for their cause. Of course, things could have ended up differently; if the representative they had met had not turned out to be a spy and tried to kill the both of them. Then, perhaps Rey would have enjoyed toasting to their success.

The second time, she was stuck for almost two days, playing hide and seek inside an asteroid belt with a tenacious bounty hunter. Apparently, he aspired to be the one to get that generous bounty the First Order had placed on the head of Snoke's murderer.

The last time, someone had discovered Leia in her bed. The General had passed away in her sleep, her body unable to fight any longer the ravaging effects of the space radiations she had been exposed to aboard the Raddus. Without surprise, the festivities had turned into mourning.

Rey had no such excuse today. In fact, it hadn't taken much convincing at all for her to follow Finn—and as she remembers with fondness the smile that had appeared on his face after she agreed to join them—she realizes her feet have finally led her right in front of her quarters.

_Sanctuary._

Rey presses the buttons of the keypad on the wall, impatient to get in. Obeying her command, the sliding panel cracks open with a painful hiss — then stops midway in its track, completely stuck.

"Oh, come on! Not again," she says through gritted teeth at the rusty piece of metal now testing her patience.

The door that remained unused since the fall of the Empire is stubborn, but the last thing Rey wants to do tonight is to fight so instead of kicking it to work the way she usually does, she slips through the opening and stumbles inside. The lights switch on, albeit dimly.

After forcibly hitting the pad again, the door slides shut smoothly — and Rey can't help but stick out her tongue at it. Childish, but well deserved. Besides, in the privacy of her quarters, nobody can judge or evaluate her. She's free to be her own person.

"Tomorrow morning, I'm tearing up your casing and you're going to work for good," Rey adds mischievously, pointing at the door with an accusing finger.

With that, she spins on her heels to seize her domain and immediately regrets the decision as a bout of queasiness submerges her, making her insides quiver and spasm like never before. Is it what it feels like to be dying?

As the nausea continues to build, Rey throws her hand to her mouth and hurries across the room, trying not to stumble over the mechanical parts scattered here and there. Old habits never die, and there are so many broken things in need of repair.

Panicking, she fumbles to open the door leading to the refresher, and when she's finally in, her eyes widen at the reflection she sees in the mirror above the sink.

She's had better days, that's for sure. However, there is no time to observe the ashen beast with hollow eyes she swapped place with before another wave of queasiness sends her squatting in front of the toilet bowl.

The next few minutes are agonizing — tears are streaming down Rey's flushed face as the content of her stomach erupts inside the bowl in painful gushes of acid, mixed with whatever wretched mixture Nnips calls moonshine.

It's the first time in her life her stomach is full enough to retch, and if she has any say about it, she swears it's also the last time.

When her abdomen finally agrees to stay still, she's left with burning eyes, clammy skin and unsteady legs—a sensation she's now desperate to wash away.

Grunts of frustration echo in the enclosed space when her fingers, usually so dexterous, struggle to unclasp the holster she keeps strapped to her hip. But once she's done with it, she kicks her feet out of her boots as elegantly as possible, not paying attention to her limbs colliding with the fixtures. Soon after the rest of her clothes join the blaster and the boots in a pile in the corner of the room.

Her toes flinch deliciously when they finally make contact with the chill ceracreete surface of the 'fresher and with one press of a button Rey releases thousands of steaming droplets over her trembling body.

The sensation of relief is immediate and she avidly welcomes the heat and wetness that trickles down her skin, washing away the sweat, the tears and the bad taste in her mouth. She closes her eyes and lets her mind swirl and drift away as she stands under the stream for long minutes, pressing her palms all over her angular features.

She has definitely put on some weight since she left Jakku. Her muscles are more toned, more defined. Her breasts too. Although, there's still not much to see in that department compared to some of the more pleasant looking women of the Resistance. Not that it really matters.

Reluctantly, she turns down the stream, conscious not to waste more precious water than necessary, and activates the dryer cycle. Hot waves of pressurized air whirl to life, whipping her hair vigorously across her face and back, and before long, all trace of moisture has disappeared, sucked into the recycling system of the station. When Rey finally steps out of the stall, she feels and looks human again.

On the way out of the refresher, she picks up her cherished blaster from the pile of dirty clothes, and proceeds forward, in the nude. Another new experience. A pleasant one. After spending a few weeks confined with everybody else, privacy is a luxury.

The bedroom is dark compared to the brightly lit 'fresher and not that much bigger all things considered. Slightly larger than a prison cell, Finn joked, but certainly more comfortable than her AT-AT.

Without giving it a thought, Rey hooks the holster next to the bed—another old habit from Jakku— then pads shamelessly across the bedroom to retrieve a pair of fresh underwear and a clean tank top.

That's another kind of luxury she could get used to—fresh clothes and fresh linen left at the door every two or three days.

Too bad the Resistance announced today that the distribution of new uniforms is suspended until further notice due to difficulties in reaching their usual supplier. Something about a blockade. The details are still blurry.

However, Rey knows that some members of the Resistance are starting to complain. Fear is getting a hold of them. She heard them speak tonight. They blame the First Order of course. They blame its Supreme Leader before all. Since he took control, the First Order is unpredictable.

Blasted Kylo Ren.

Her heart flinches. She tries to get used to hearing the name without grimacing. Not an easy task for someone who is living at the heart of the organization that swore to tear the First Order down. Somehow, it's even harder to say that name after all these months—Kylo Ren.

For Rey, he's Ben Solo; the boy she left behind.

She glances at the desk in the corner and takes a few unassured steps. Unfortunately, the shower can't get rid of the alcohol, only the grime.

As she suspected, nothing has moved since she left. The _Aionomica_ still lays open on the page she was painfully deciphering when Finn knocked on the door and the holopad she's been feverishly filling with notes for the past few months rests on top of the schematics for her new lightsaber—a design she has proudly imagined herself.

_Ben Solo_

Her fingers caress the parchment of the _Aionomica_ distractedly.

"Not tonight, my friend," she says to the ancient book.

It's late and she needs some rest. There's so much to do tomorrow—Fixing that damn door for one; translating eons old texts about cosmic energy and laser swords, spreading words of hope throughout the galaxy—

Rey tucks herself into bed and with a flicker of her fingers switches off the light.

* * *

 

"Can I have this dance?"

Poe is holding a hand out to her.

"Yes, I'd love to dance," she replies with a sheepish smile. The glass she's been holding since the beginning of the party ends up on the table, and Poe grabs her hand.

The next thing, she's following Commander Dameron to the center of the dance floor under the jealous stares of the junior members of the Resistance who still believe they have a shot at capturing the heart of the best pilot in the Resistance. Then they start slow dancing.

"It's a great song, isn't it? A real classic" Poe comments.

Too embarrassed to admit she’s never heard that song— or any of the songs Nipps has been playing as a matter of fact— Rey simply hums her agreement, unable or unwilling to explain that Jatz's greatest hits simply never reached Jakku's shores.

For some reason, Poe's left hand supports the small of her back while the right keeps their arms poised in the air at an odd angle.

At least that’s how she remembers it.

Rey tosses and turns, entangling herself in the bedsheet as she's fails to fall asleep. Aren't drunkards supposed to pass out? What was the point of numbing her senses if she can't even get a good night sleep?

Now that she thinks about it though, Poe is a better dancer than Luke was. She sees that, now. Under the pilot's lead, her feet sway effortlessly from one side to another, in perfect harmony with the music.

In the corner of her eye, Rey catches a glimpse of Finn and Rose dancing nearby. Finn's arms are resting over Rose's shoulders, albeit a little too stiffly to look comfortable. Because of the height difference, Rose hugs his midsection instead, her cheek pressed flush against his chest, a wide smile etched on her face. They look awkward.

Awkwardly cute.

"War brings people together sometimes."

Rey looks up. Poe is observing Rose and Finn too. There's just a hint of sadness in his voice, and she's not sure what brings it.

"What were the odds these two would have met otherwise?" he continues, looking down to meet her eyes.

"I'm sure Threepio would love to answer this question," she replies jokingly.

Poe's laugh is round and full. It's an agreeable sound. His grip on her lower back tightens.

"Maker, no. Have mercy! If I have to listen to one more lesson on protocol, I'm going to deliver myself to the First Order," he adds. "He's gotten worse since Leia—"

The rest of the sentence dies in his throat as if the words are still too hard to say aloud. Their feet continue moving in harmony for a while.

Eventually, Poe breaks the silence.

"My parents met on a base like this one. It's hard, you know," he continues, searching for her face. Something tells Rey he’s trying to make a point but she’s still not following so instead of being rude, she simply nods and smile, and let the music ebb around her.

Rey actually likes to dance. Once you know what to do, it's nice just to follow and let your body react instinctively.

"You're a Jedi, destined for great things," Poe says more seriously. "Don't be jealous."

Rey loses the tempo, and steps onto his toes.

"Ouch."

"Sorry," she apologizes. "But I'm not sure what you mean by that."

She's candid, but Poe doesn't seem to believe her. He flashes her a knowing look that, in reality, knows nothing and inches closer to whisper in her ear.

"Finn and Rose. I know it hurts, but you should rejoice for them."

Rey stops in her track to look at him, aghast. She doesn't know what is more preposterous, that Poe believes she's in love with Finn or that she could be unable to rejoice for her best friend's newfound happiness. Of course, she's happy for Finn! For the both of them, really!

She lets go of Poe's hand.

"I'm parched now. All that dancing," Rey says a little harsher than she intended. "I think I need another drink."

In bed, a grunt of frustration escapes her throat. _Sleep instead of replaying scenes from this evening!_

It’s useless though. She's unable to think of anything else. Perhaps she should get up and work on one of the projects littering her floor. Fixing things always worked wonders on Jakku after all.

Stupid Poe. What does he know? She’s not jealous of Rose. Rose is her friend, a little bit of a know-it-all when it comes to the Falcon at the start, but she did have a point with the thrusters, so she's long forgiven.

Rey hides her face in the crook of her arm.

She's not jealous; she's envious.

Envious of how Rose and Finn's faces light up when they see each other in the mornings, of the laughs they share, of how their signature in the Force change when they're together. They're unaware it does, but Rey can sense it.

She's envious because she will never have that. Not in this lifetime anyway.

She tries to push the memories away before they even bubble at the surface.

She went over this before.

She's over this.

Over it.

Over him.

But she has to admit. She had butterflies once. In the pit of her stomach. In a turbolift. It felt _good_. It felt _right_ at the time.

_Blasted brain!_

What's the point of reliving painful moments? Nothing she did would have changed the outcome of that day.  It's no use. Rey would love to find the key again, the key she used to lock her parents out of her memories.

But _what if_? Where would she be now if she had grabbed his hand instead of reaching out for the lightsaber?

Rey doesn't dream of the island and the ocean anymore. The visions of Ahch-To have made a place to something else. A mystery she hoped to crack thanks to the Jedi texts. Something she's been trying to understand.

She sucks in a sharp breath and tries to relax. The bedsheet brushes against her legs.

She sees it. The cave. It's dark, yet bright at the same time. There are crystals embedded in the rocky surface; they shimmer with the light. No, they shine from within. It's beautiful.

Her chest heaves.

She's not alone. She's never alone in that dream. He's there, by her side.

She can't see his face, but she knows it's him. It's _him_ , yet different at the same time. What could have been? What will be? What was?

Blood runs faster in her veins. She can hear her heartbeats. Not in the dream, in the bedroom. Her hand slithers under the bed sheet.

He's waiting for her in the dream. Always. When he speaks her name, she's never afraid, never sad. She even smiles.

Of course, it's just a fantasy, an illusion. So what? If a Jedi can’t have the laughs and the butterflies, surely the thrills are permitted at least!

The man who is _him_ yet not _him_ at the same time is holding his hand out to her. She wishes she could say his name aloud but for some reason the words are stuck. It's easier to imagine him nameless and faceless anyway.

Her hand hesitates at the hem of her tank top.

Meanwhile, in the dream, she follows _him_ to the center of the crystal gallery, her left hand clasped with his. Her lower back welcomes the contact of his right hand, and they start moving together. Their feet are bare, like the rest of them.

Rey presses her cheek against his chest to listen to his inner world. He's at peace now. And their hearts beat at the same cadence.

The man she can't name never speaks. It doesn't matter; they don't need words anyway. They have the Force. The tips of his fingers are smooth and warm. He makes gentle, soothing circles on her skin.

Her hand moves upward, underneath the material of the tank top. She could count her ribs if she wanted to.

That’s foolish though. She shouldn't dream things like that. She shouldn't want things like that. _A man_. A man like _him_.

Yet.

Rey opens her eyes. The room is dark. There's nothing there. Just her.

She shifts in the bed, trying to think of something else but the butterflies are fluttering mercilessly in the pit of her stomach, and she's alone.

_Lonely._

Rey shuts her eyes again and tries to recreate with her mind-eye the face of the pretty boy—the officer from the communication room. Surely, he's good enough to help chase the butterflies away. Better than him in every way.

Her breast fits snuggly in the palm of her hand, and she gives a gentle squeeze.

The pretty boy's lips are lush and pink and sleek. They crown her small tit nicely, his pink tongue swirling and rolling over her perky nipple.

He's really pretty, with ivory skin and a burning gaze. He has no voice, and it's okay that way. Words are useless. Worthless.

Rey kneads her breast until a soft, shy moan finds its way out of her throat. It's no more than heavy breathing. If someone were listening, they would believe she’s having a dream.

The pretty boy flashes an impish smile before they both tumble on the floor of the cave. Rey laughs a tinkling laugh that ripples through the crystals.

Her hand strokes her breasts with more fervor, more vigor.

The pretty boy likes her. Likes to lavish her skin with kisses.

The fingers of her left hand start tracing featherlike patterns over her breasts. The other hand slithers down, and down, and down—and so is the pretty boy.

She's never experienced that kind of heat, never shared that sort of passion, but somehow with each stroke of her imagination she's finding herself pushed further and further away from herself. The air becomes still in the cavern; her hands clutch at the material pooling underneath their naked bodies. Her chest tightens up, her ribs rise with each breath, trying to break her flesh. The pretty boy's hair is tickling the skin of her inner thighs.

No, not the pretty boy. She looks down, and their eyes meet. His dark, hungry, never satisfied gaze lock with her watery, unfocused gaze. His hair as dark as night. The breath is knocked out of her when he slowly pokes his tongue out and gives her a feral grin. His name finally reaches her lips.

"B—"

**"What are you doing?"**

Her eyes fly open with fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are so many ways this story can go, I'd be interested hearing your thoughts. 
> 
> And don't forget to subscribe.


	2. Why is the Force connecting us?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, thank you SO MUCH to everyone who bookmarked, left a kudo or commented on this story. Your support means more than you can ever imagine.
> 
> Secondly, my apologies for the long wait. It took me longer than anticipated to post this chapter because I restarted it 4 times. Yes, 4 times! I had such a clear picture of what I wanted to achieve and I just couldn't get it right. Am I satisfied now? Not 100% but close enough. Our lovebirds can be stubborn sometimes.
> 
> Thirdly, remember that this is written in Rey's POV and sometimes she misjudges our boi Ben's intentions. Don't judge her too harshly. She's been through a lot.
> 
> Finally, please enjoy!

The old neon buzzes to life, shining a pale light on Rey’s small bedroom. She’s lying on her back, exposed and flushed.

“Force! No! Not now! Look away!”

Her mind races but not nearly as fast as her heart as she thrashes to sit upright, legs knotted in the white linen of the bed.

This can’t be happening. This shouldn’t be happening.

Despite her plea, that it’s just her imagination, that she’s going to wake up from this nightmare at any moment, the imposing, unmistakable shape of Ben Solo materializes dangerously close, uncomfortably close on the edge of the bed—her bed.

Tangled in her fantasies, she mistook the telltale signs of the Force shrinking the galaxy for mundane waves of pleasure. What a poor Jedi she is! No doubt Ben is going to enjoy his visit this time.

The dimness of the room shrouds his profile, but she can see his gloved hands clenched on his knees, the tension in his shoulders and the taut muscles of his arms stretching the snug fabric of his pleated sleeves. If her fingers unfurl they will brush the hem of his surcoat.

“It wasn’t my choice,” he informs with an icy tone.

It wasn’t hers either.

Just as her awareness of Ben Solo expands, Rey’s face becomes hot with a patchwork of emotions; fear, guilt, longing mixed with a pang of residual arousal she’s unable—or recalcitrant—to shake off. She whips her hand away, too afraid to touch him, even by accident. Especially by accident.

“Go away!”

Hopefully, her supplication will suffice to terminate the connection. Ben already confronted her about her origins, she can’t allow him to discover and take advantage of her embarrassing secret now.

“Are you alone?” he asks in a penetrating, lightless voice, either ignoring or oblivious to her turmoil. It’s always hard to tell if Ben Solo is cruel and callous on purpose or simply out of habit.

Before it’s too late, Rey closes her eyes to clear her mind and secure the secrets of the Resistance behind thick mental wards. It would be a disaster if the First Order came in possession of the Resistance’s attack plans. They are so close to eliminating Hux now! She can’t jeopardize their best shot.

“What difference does that make?” she responds, trying to sound irritated enough so he’ll drop the subject. “What I do and where I go is none of your business, Ben.”

A storm is raging inside him; she can sense it. No, it’s more potent than that actually. Rey can perceive the Force hurling itself at Ben Solo’s stone-like figure. It reminds her of the powerful, icy-cold dark blue waters surrounding Ahch-To. Gigantic waves crashing against the walls of an impregnable fortress caught in the middle of a hurricane. However, his thoughts and churning emotions are cloaked to her awareness like never before.

A feeling of uneasiness starts creeping over Rey as she realizes a small, primitive part of her missed saying his birth name—Ben.

Their bond is a dangerous, treacherous thing.

“Can you talk?” he asks, jaws still clenched.

Her hands grasp the bedsheet and pull it close to erect a flimsy barrier around her body. To her surprise, the sheet offers no resistance—despite being so vividly by her side Ben Solo is actually light years away she reminds herself. A projection only she can touch.

A trick of the Force.

But that doesn’t mean he can’t hurt her she forces herself to remember.

“Yes, I’m alone. But I don’t want to talk to you, Ben! We have nothing to talk about.”

Deep down she knows the words she just said were lies, except maybe for the fact that she’s alone. Although, lonely is the word she’s looking for if Rey dares being honest with herself. But that’s not something to reveal to the leader of the opposite faction, is it?

She risks stealing a glance in his direction. Ben hasn’t moved, seemingly focusing his attention on a spot on the opposite wall at his end of the connection. He reminds her of a durasteel wire about to snap.

Rey fails to suppress the rising feeling of apprehension mixed with anticipation clawing at her chest at the thought that, at any moment now, he will shift his gaze in her direction, discover she’s wearing nothing but a pair of underwear and a tank top, and then confront her with that smug air of superiority.

Because that’s what Ben Solo always does, isn’t it? That’s who he is; an arrogant, astute and unnervingly observant jerk who will use any means necessary to try overpowering her, making her feel small and unimportant. _Well, he failed in the past and he’ll fail again!_

Ben’s signature flares up in the Force. He shifts uneasily in his seat, and then turns around slowly like a gnaw-jaw spotting its next meal.

Repressing a shiver, Rey scrambles backward until her back bumps flat into the wall—and hugs her knees.

She can feel him trying to dig his talons into her mind the way he did on Takodana and Starkiller Base, searching for an opening across the bond.

“You’re hiding something. What is it?” His voice is still hard but Rey perceives a hint of relief.

Unable to withstand his gaze yet, Rey screws her eyes on the spot where the black of his pants clashes against the white of the bed. “None of your business, Ben.”

Unlike that morning on the sacred island, when she shot a hole in the wall of the stone hut and made out the shape of the medical droid stitching him up, his immediate surroundings remain hidden to her senses. Whatever his supreme ass is currently sitting on today is invisible. As far as she knows Ben could be sitting atop Snoke’s throne—his throne—with the remaining Knights of Ren crowding around him right now.

At that prospect, Rey’s chest swells with an ageless emotion, a head-spinning cocktail of longing and dread, the same sentiment she discovered after fighting the red guards, amidst the flames and the nauseating smell of singed flesh.

She hugs her knees closer.

If they’re both lucky, Ben Solo will fade before they can kill each other—or hurt each other in worse ways.

_Please go away._

But Ben doesn’t disappear and a long moment of awkward silence stretches before she finally makes her first mistake—She looks up, and their eyes meet for the second time since Crait.

Startled, Rey sits upright; her back pressed flush against the cold duracrete wall.

“What do you want?” she asks harshly, unsure if she’s pretending to be angry or if the vision of his cold dead eyes boring into hers awakened the latent anger she keeps on a short leash since they have parted ways. “It’s the middle of the night; I was sleeping.”

His long, pale face bisected by the scar she has given him on Starkiller looks sullen. And impenetrable. His delectable mouth is drawn into a straight thin line that gives nothing away of his true feelings.

For once, Ben seems to be successfully keeping his rampaging emotions in check. A surprising change— a worrying change. She’s never seen him so cold, so calculating. Not even on the HoloNet vids.

Tonight, there is no compassion in this timeless soul-sucking gaze; only emptiness. He’s holding himself nearly as stiffly as Threepio, and it’s hard to tell if he’s annoyed, embarrassed or both. At least the Force stopped swirling angrily around him.

“Sleeping. Yes, I see,” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. His mouth remains severe but a taunting smile forms in the corner of his eyes. He leans in closer.

“It’s a good activity. Perhaps you should try it sometimes. It would help with your mood,” Rey snaps back in a similar acrid tone.

If only they weren't in bed. If only she had an intellectual bone to throw at him to keep his mind focused on a problem. To distract him from the fact that it’s the middle of the night, that she’s drunk and that only a moment ago it’s his hands on her thighs and breasts she imagined.

“If you say so,” he replies with a sneer, for the first time allowing his gaze to break off her face to scan her silhouette enveloped by nothing but a thin veil. “Perhaps that’s why I’m here?”

Then, humming with contentment and something akin to perverse pleasure, Ben shatters the walls he erected around his private thoughts to share the unwelcome evocation of his black-clad hand running down her jaw.

Rey’s heart flips. Cursing herself for allowing him through her guard, she draws in a sharp breath and projects in return the image of his eyeballs nesting in the palm of her blood-smeared hands.

The smug bastard doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move, keeping his eyes on her like an entomologist fascinated by a rare specimen. Caught under that mesmerizing gaze, Rey can hear her heart pounding in her chest harder and harder. And she hates herself because she can’t help but think that he might be right, that the Force is connecting them because of her foolish needs.

Else, why is it connecting them at such an awkward moment?

A test—or a gift?

No. If Rey falls into that trap, all hope is lost. For her, for the Resistance, for the galaxy. Their destiny is in perpetual flux.

_Kriff!_

No matter how much she tries to be a rock in the middle of the ocean, Ben Solo has the power to provoke visceral sensations—the good and the bad, but mostly the bad.

Her nose wrinkles in frustration. As much as she rationalized her attraction, convinced herself it was acceptable to think of a naked Ben Solo during her private time, Rey can’t allow Supreme Leader Ren to weaponize her emotions. She might be lonely, but she’s not alone. Many men, women and children are counting on the organization she represents. They do not have the luxury to believe there is still light in Ben Solo, the way she does. So, in spite of her trepidation, Rey, the last Jedi, keeps holding his brazen, unflinching gaze, and channels her indignation.

Being angry is okay. The Force needs Rey to be strong. The light cannot surrender to the darkness. Not yet at least. Perhaps not ever.

The walls around Ben Solo’s mind are back, ten times stronger, so she builds some of her own in case he tries to play dirty again.

After long minutes trying to read his sabacc face, something becomes apparent though; Ben looks healthier. More handsome than she remembers too. But these are risky, tricky thoughts. She squashes the butterflies in her belly. Rey can’t afford to her guard down again. Otherwise, her fears, dreams and desires will escape their containment barrier.

No, she can’t get distracted by his lush lips— those lips she kissed just a few moments ago in her feverish fantasy, those lips she imagined poised over a part of her anatomy she can’t name in public. Better not thinking of those silky strands of dark hair tickling his neck either, or else—

At long last, Snoke’s poisonous influence over Ben Solo is no more, and so are gone the dark circles that used to mark his red-streaked eyes. His cheeks are fuller and have more color to them, whereas his clothes haven’t changed that much. Jet-black from tip to toe. They look more formal though, tailored for a leader, less fit for a warrior. The pleated sleeves disappear inside a lighter, delicate looking version of the surcoat he was wearing aboard the Supremacy. Her fingers twitch. Is it made of Cyrene silk? Ben is sitting so close. She only needs to reach out to find out—  

To her surprise, she notices that the belt that used to cinch his waist is gone. Which means, no lightsaber.

_Why?_

Few more minutes of quiet observation pass until featherlike tendrils start tickling at her awareness, interrupting her train of thoughts. Ben Solo is studying her, not unlike the day he failed to interrogate her. There’s a mischievous twinkle in his eyes and his mouth twitches before he finally breaks the silence.

“Earlier, were you thinking of me?”

Despite the lightness in the tone of his voice, the question sounds detached, almost as if it had an academic purpose.

“What? I— No!” she stammers, unprepared - or unwilling - to discuss such matters with him.

_Bastard! Did he see something?_

“Then, why now?” he inquires with a detachment nearing boredom.

When Rey finally allows herself to glance at Ben, the tension in his body has melted off, as if he finally convinced himself it’s okay to relax, to let go.

He’s not addressing her, though— he’s asking the Force.

Dispassionate, he stands up with a deliberate motion and starts pacing alongside the bed. His large hands, covered by those awful gloves she wants to tear to shreds, clasped behind his back in the manner of an impatient teacher— or a First Order officer.

Taking advantage of the space he freed, Rey pulls her feet underneath her small frame to settle more comfortably on the bed. She’s contemplating putting some clothes on, rather than holding on to the bed sheet, but that would look like an invitation for Ben to overstay his visitation, and it means getting up and exposing more flesh in the process.

“Have you found something? Something you need help with?” he finally inquires.

Rey hates how his moving body draws her gaze. No matter where she looks in this small, cramped space, he seems to occupy the entirety of her peripheral vision.

“Can you move away? You’re making my head spin,” she asks.

“No,” he responds, without even considering her request.

“No you can’t or no you won’t?”

“Both.”

“Ben!” she exclaims, “I don’t need help with anything! Now, unless you’re going to dismantle the First Order, leave me alone. I need to sleep.”

Ben lets out a heavy, annoyed sigh and gives her a half-disgusted look that reminds her of Luke’s cocked eyebrows.

“Rey, you know I have no control over this,” he continues, visibly disappointed to have to spell such an evidence aloud. “And as I recall, you’re the one who seems proficient at leaving.”

Rey flinches. What is he mad at her for this time? Since Crait, the bond only opened once, and he’s the one who cut the conversation short, not her. Unless—

It’s getting late, and the horrible throbbing is back.

“We’re not doing this now,” she says resigned. ”Just, tell me what you have in _life_ so we can move on and go back to our _minds_.”

_That came all wrong, oops._

Ben’s brow furrows. “Are you drunk?” he inquires coldly.

“I... had a drink. Or two,” she concedes.

“More like five or six by the sounds of it,” he snaps back, not even trying to lace the contempt in his voice with a little bit of concern. “What a disgrace,” he adds, “of all people; you should know better than to poison your body with alcohol the way your parents did.”

His piercing eyes are pinning Rey against the wall, every word punching hard, right in the guts. Ben Solo makes sure of that. And it works; all that anger she repressed bubbles suddenly at the surface like a stew left on the fire for too long.

“Asshole!” she spits back without even trying to conceal her animosity in the Force or otherwise.

With a cruel smile on his face, Ben Solo stops pacing and whips around. He advances menacingly toward the bed but Rey doesn’t flinch with fear. She knows his tactics. Perhaps the Supreme Leader is used to using his ludicrous stature and volatile character to impose his will over his subordinates, but Rey won’t cower.

He continues, with a rapacious look on his face, relishing at the sight of Rey’s angry and flustered expression. “Charming, as always. Truly brought up by Jakku’s finest.”

The muscles in her arms stiffen and her hands ball into fists in spite of herself. Rey flings herself out of bed, unthinking and unflinching in front of that ridiculously large man who is trying to rouse her up. She stares back right at him with her teeth bared. If she summons her quarterstaff, she’s going to wipe that expression off his face!

Now that she’s not clinging to it anymore, the bed sheet drops to the floor and ends up pooling at their feet. But it doesn’t matter. She could be completely naked in front of Ben Solo and she couldn’t care less. If her flesh is the last thing he sees before she knocks all his teeth out, so be it.

“Don’t you dare. What about you?” she retorts venomously. “Were you brought up by droids? Is that why you have no human feelings?” she says, poking an accusing finger to his chest.

For the first time since Ben materialized, his eyes widen in shock. Is it the words she spoke, the skin she revealed or the touch of her finger on his chest?

Before she can confront him, the air is knocked out of her lungs. She feels it too. Under their feet the world stops, the earth shatters and cracks until there’s nothing but an endless void. The walls of her small bedroom crumble, becoming specks of dust floating in the dark expanse of space. Rey isn’t cold or afraid though. The darkness is seductive. It’s hot and incandescent, and she knows that, in a moment, every single particle surrounding them is going to explode to give birth to countless stars, each more brilliant and fiery than the last.

It comes from within them—the spark that started it all and will consume everything in the end.

Rey looks up and holds her breath. For a nano-second, she sees it in the way he peers at her— the event horizon. There is no escape possible from the gravitational pull that is Ben Solo. Not in this lifetime.

Ben inches closer. Where there was contempt, there’s a mystic devotion in his eyes. His nostrils flare, and Rey can feel their breath mingling and becoming one like the rings of a gas planet at the center of the universe. There’s still time to escape, she’s not frozen in place like in the forest. She’s not scared like she used to be, she’s seen under the mask of Kylo Ren. The pounding in her chest has resumed, louder than a stampede of frightened happabores. Yet, not in fear. In anticipation.

Ben’s hand slowly reaches out to cup her cheek, tenderly. Around them, the Force ebbs and flows effortlessly like an endless network of luminous streams connected to one another since the dawn of time. An endless cycle. Life, death, rebirth. She can feel the heat of his hand seeping through the leather of his gloves now. But he doesn’t touch her yet. He hesitates. His jaw trembles and she can tell he’s biting the inside of his mouth. If he stalls much longer, he’ll draw blood.

She doesn’t want her first kiss to taste of blood

“Ben.”

If he’s waiting for an answer, this is it. Yes, she consents. She’s ready. Why should she deny a presence the Force brought her? Her lips want to smash against his, discover the taste of true passion. Like Rose and Finn. Like the other girls who have it all.

Her heels leave the ground.

Rey doesn’t want to be alone anymore.

Her eyes flutter in anticipation, and she flattens the palm of her hand over his heart to keep her balance as she stands on the ball of her feet. His pulse is fast and loud.

The world shrinks around them rapidly, like a dying star about to collapse. Their galloping heartbeats and ragged breaths the only sounds rumbling throughout the bond.

Reverence gives way to a forlorn expression on Ben’s face.

“No, Rey.”

He withdraws his hand swiftly and his fingers coil around her wrist, neither violently nor gently. Her mouth gapes in confusion and shock.

Ben pushes her away and the illusion shatters. They’re back in her small, run-down room at the end of nowhere. Then, without a word, he bends over slowly to pick up the bed sheet from the floor. His movements are slow and gracious, devoid of animosity.

Why?

Ben rises, and their eyes lock again; his are yearning and hungry, yet anxious at the same time. Hers are struck and full of hurt and chagrin. Rey wants to scream until her throat is sore and bruised. She wants to furiously kick and pound her fists at his chest, at his stupid blank face; anything to get a reaction out of him, an answer, an explanation, a confession.

Why?!

Yet, once again, Ben shuts off in the Force like a clam caught in a sandstorm. He stalks one-step closer, and places delicately the linen over Rey’s shoulders like a blanket. She shudders. Finally, he snaps away and sits down at the edge of the bed, catching his head in his gloved hands.

“We’re still here,” he says, full of regrets and something akin to concern. “It’s something else.”

Rey shuts her eyes, trying to tame the turmoil that is tearing her apart. Her body shakes with adrenaline.

She failed the test. She was weak. She was foolish.

Fat, silent tears are now streaking her cheeks. How can he so casually turns her emotions against her? Snoke’s tutelage left his marks on Ben Solo.

“It was just a game?” She asks, each syllable clawing at her constricted throat.

Ben looks up with a pained expression and shakes his head.

“No. I want you by my side, Rey. But not like that.”

“By your side?” she snorts.

Despair gives way to anger once more.

His gaze hardens.

“You’re a terrible Jedi, you know that?”

“And you’re a terrible human being,” she retorts.

“You’re drunk, you will change your mind as soon as you sober up.”

“I will never join you!” she yells.

“I’m not—” Ben sighs. He rises to his feet again and advances in her direction. Rey takes a step backward.

“Don’t!”

“Rey,” he says. “If you want me to leave, we need to figure out what’s happening. Do you understand?”

“Stop talking down to me!” she blurts out. “I’m not an idiot.”

“I know you’re not”, he replies, voice modulated by something Rey could easily mistake for affection if she didn’t know better.

He continues, speaking more softly. “Naive? Fearless? Bold? Yes.”

He takes another step forward and reaches out tentatively with a shaking hand, and this time Rey stays where she’s standing.

“But stupid? No,” Ben shakes his head. “You’re not stupid. That’s why I don’t understand. The Resistance doesn’t deserve you.”

“Like you do?” she sneers.

The Force spikes between them. Ben is chewing on his words again.

“No.” He finally says. “It’s not about that. It’s about staying strong. Knowing what is right.”

A derisive laugh escapes Rey.

“And you know what is right? _Supreme Leader Ren—”_

She didn’t mean to hurt him but failed nonetheless. Ben puts on his best sabacc face again, his piercing gaze trying to hold her air of defiance. But she can’t help but notice that his eyes keeps fluttering back to her lips.

“Were you happy on Jakku?” he eventually asks, his brow furrowed and jaw clenching and unclenching because he’s thinking hard.

The question takes her aback.

“What does it have to do with what you do?”

He takes another step toward her. “Everything!”

His gaze is alight with a new fire, fervent and luminous, but also as scorching as the sun. “Tell me, Rey of Jakku. What did the Jedi ever do for you?”

“They were extinct. They couldn’t do anything,” she retorts, annoyed that he’s trying to change the subject.

“They would have done nothing anyway. Had they found you, they would have turned their backs and walked away, and let you rot on that forsaken planet serving that parasite your parents sold you to. Even as a child. In their eyes you were damaged goods already.”

“You can’t know that. There’s no use speculating,” she spits back.

Ben starts to sound just like Luke she realizes.

“Oh, yeah? I studied the Jedi for years. I searched for answers in their temples, in their archives. And you know what I found?”

Ben invades her private space again, holding her gaze. His mouth purses in pure, undiluted disgust.

“Lies. And murder.”

Rey’s brows furrow.

“What did Skywalker tell you? What makes you so sure that you can resurrect the Jedi when even _he_ failed? The savior of the galaxy. The man who turned Darth Vader. A noble sense of sacrifice—or hubris?”

“It’s not about me,” Rey interjects.

The corner of Ben’s mouth raises slightly and his eyes flash in the dark, reflecting the pale light of neon. He shoots her a knowing look.

“Perhaps I’m here to give you a history lesson then, Jedi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, what are we going to do with these two?


	3. A history lesson

Rey suppresses a sad smile and walks away. It always comes down to that, doesn’t it? To Ben trying to be her teacher. To pass on a knowledge he claims to reject.

But the Supreme Leader is wrong. There’s no place left for masters and apprentices in their world. That concept died with Snoke and Luke—If only Ben could see it! If only he could unlearn the shame and the guilt; unburden himself from that tainted education.

“Fine,” she says before yanking the sheet off her shoulders and tossing it unceremoniously into Ben’s arms. The look on his face as he catches is so comical she’d pay good money to have it recorded and broadcast on the HoloNet in place of those awful First Order clips that show him attending various events with his mask on. The subjects of the First Order have no clue Supreme Leader Ren is such an expressive and handsome man—A man who should be gawking at her body instead of gaping in surprise at the material he’s holding. It’s plain boring duracotton after all, nothing as fancy or extravagant as the First Order can afford.

Oh—Rey suddenly pauses. If he’s not there and they’re not touching anymore...

“How?”

She looks up to meet Ben’s knowing expression once more. His chest heaves and his nostrils flare, not from anger or fear this time, rather from contained excitement at the amazing new trick they just performed.

At least he doesn’t look angry anymore.

“Throw something else,” he says with a glint of excitement. “Anything.”

“I thought you wanted to teach me a lesson?”

“This is as important,” he responds striding towards her, with the same expression Rose had when she managed to fix the shower pump in Finn’s bedroom.

Except that, unlike Rose, Ben punctuates his sentence with a stroke on Rey’s naked shoulder. It’s another warm, intimate gesture from the Supreme Leader that sets all sort of contradicting emotions in motion. How can he not see she’s doing her best to stay away from him? —which in this tiny room is hard enough as it is. Instead, he’s standing close once again, tall and broad and beautiful with those doe eyes, his thumb at the ready to caress her neck if she’d allow it. Which she won’t. Because. Because—

Why did he refuse to kiss her earlier?

Considering how he now bites the inside of his cheeks again, he must be wondering the exact same thing.

Bracing herself for another cosmic revelation Rey draws in a sharp breath and reaches out.

Slowly, her left hand flattens against his stomach and waits. Nothing happens this time—no vision, no illusion; just two human beings who can’t stop yearning for a future they have no control over.

Ben swallows hard in return. She can feel the hardness, the energy that lies within that body he sculpted day after day—first as a boy, under Luke’s worried supervision, then as a man under Snoke’s cruel guidance. He spent years harnessing the pain, the fear, the anger and the despair in order to fuel the living weapon Snoke wanted him to be—that ticking bomb ready to explode at any moment. Yet, Rey knows that there’s something else beneath those hard planes. Something soft, something hidden—a slight tremor.

She wants to throw her arms around his neck, to hold him, to lay an army of kisses across his face and all over his body, because fear and hatred governed his life for too long. In return, she wants him to knock the wind out of her lungs, to whisper heated words no one would believe he’s capable of saying because they don’t have to be alone anymore. They can find peace; stop the war. Surely, this is why the Force is connecting them tonight—

Instead, Rey pushes him away from her.

It can’t be that simple. Even if they both want it. If they do kiss, what then? It’s not how they’re going to stop the war, is it? She just bursts into the war room tomorrow and declare that love is the answer? Love—or lust? She can’t tell the difference, anyway.

Surprised, Ben flails until his legs meet with something solid that isn’t Rey’s bed as far as she can tell. He ends up sitting on the edge all the same.

“Don’t move,” she orders.

Ben obeys without even trying to argue. His questioning gaze follows her clumsy steps as she slaloms around various obstacles— the pieces of salvage that litter the floor he cannot see. When she reaches the desk, the Aionomica purrs in the Force. Ben must sense it too because his energy flares up inquisitively.

Ignoring the book for now, Rey grabs a chair and places it at arm's length from the bed, across Ben. It’s old and creaky, and makes an embarrassing noise when you sit on it. Finn and Poe commented on it more than once but apparently, Supreme Leader Ren is too serious for fart jokes. Doubts and apprehension crept on his pale face.

Finally, Rey settles with her legs crossed in a meditative stance and her eyes bore into Ben’s. He’s sitting upright, legs spread apart and hands on his knees, very serious and almost— she hates to say it—regal.

Somehow, the situation reminds her of Luke’s first lesson to her on the lookout over the cliffs of Ahch-To. Except there are no squawking porgs to distract her in that shabby bedroom, only the echo of Ben’s heart across the bond.

“I’m listening, Ben. What did the Jedi do that was so terrible that both Luke and you would rather see it die than salvage it?” she finally asks.

The leather of his gloves creaks. The walls that shield his mind from her curiosity are dense and tall as a mountain; it is hard to tell if he winced at the evocation of his late uncle or because she’s actually willing to listen to his story.

However, she can tell ideas are swirling around his skull from the way his chin works from left to right.

“Do you even know how the Jedi rose to power?” he eventually asks, failing to sound detached.

“They became the Peacekeepers of the Old Republic,” she fires without thinking. She might never have gone to school and is nothing but an uneducated scavenger in the eyes of mighty Ben Solo, born from a lineage of galactic heroes, but some things are common knowledge, even on Jakku.

“But what does Peacekeepers mean exactly, Rey? When the Jedi fought countless wars?”

Blood rushes to her head.

“You mean wars against power hungry egotists who want to bend the galaxy to their will, like your pal Hux?” she retorts. “Like, _you_?”

Ben’s expression hardens, and he purses his mouth in disgust. “I’m nothing like Hux.”

“Yet, you keep him as a pet, to carry on with your dirty work.”

Those words hit their marks more than Rey anticipated. The Force starts to whirlpool angrily around him.

“I won’t discuss politics with a terrorist,” Ben snaps back.

Rey shoots him a scornful look in return.

“A terrorist? Is that what you think I am?”

“What else? You say you want to be a Jedi, a peacekeeper in your own words, yet you associate with a mob of war-mongering rebels, hell-bent on blowing things up because the rest of the galaxy supports the actions of the First Order.”

The air fills with electricity. Rey’s chest swells with outrage, a justified anger, white and sizzling. She doesn’t want the conversation to end up in a fight once more, but she can’t let him speak of the Resistance that way.

“They fight for freedom, Ben! They fight to keep your mother’s ideals alive!”

“My mother was a liar!” he erupts. “She lied all the time! She cared for no one except herself! Even her allies turned their backs on her as soon as they saw her for who she truly was! Darth Vader’s own flesh and blood!”

All of a sudden, before she can even examine and sort out her own emotions, anger abandons Rey completely, giving way to Ben’s overwhelming despair.

Tears are pooling at the corners of his deep brown eyes, tremors shake his chest and shoulders.

“No one is ever free,” he gasps.

Wetness appears on Rey’s cheeks and she can’t help but gasp as well—desperate for air—when an acute pain pierces her heart. It is as if the razor-sharp shards of Ben’s broken soul are digging into her chest, carving a poisoned way to her core.

“No.”

Rey leans in to grab his hand and reels him back to her. Their tear stricken faces now only inches apart. Ben’s ragged breath catches in his throat.

He’s hiding something. What is it?

Peering into Rey’s anguished expression that mirrors his own, Ben’s mental wards crack and peel like the layers of old paint falling from the walls of the derelict base.

Rey falls down the cracks and sees it, in his mind, how the little boy adored his mother.

How her arms were his sole respite from the darkness, how he fought so long all alone to keep the dark tendrils away from her because she was the light—and if he came from her then the voices were wrong—he came from the light too. But that was a lie. A lie he’d told himself numerous times at night to not wet the bed. He had known for as long as he’d been breathing. But Organa had kept it secret. Her shame. She didn’t come from the light—she wasn’t even born princess—and if she wasn’t the light then he wasn’t either. He couldn’t. Such a bad kid, so prone to storms and anger that his own father looked at him with disgust. If only he had never been b—

Rey tries to go deeper, but a wave of anguish pushes her away. There’s something else, something Ben won’t allow her to see so she recoils from his mind, gasping for air, and peers at him, only to find an infinite sadness in his eyes.

She’s too scared to let go of his hands, scared he’s going to evaporate in thin air.

“You’re more than your blood,” she whispers.

“Rey.”

Rey loosens her grip, but Ben clasps his fingers around her wrist, pressing gently over her pulse.

“They’re using you too, Rey.” The words he breathes are devoid of animosity. “Your friends, they believe there cannot be balance in the galaxy without the Jedi, but they don’t understand the ways of the Force. The Jedi fought countless wars like this one before, against the Sith, against rebellions, against themselves. Peacekeepers is just another word for enforcers. If you rebuild the Jedi, you’ll only build another army for the same people.”

“But it wasn’t always like that. Why can’t it be changed again?” she counters in a hopeful breath.

Ben’s grip on her wrist slackens and he leans back slowly. Although he looks reluctant to do so, he finally let’s go of her hand and straightens up, an air of curiosity gradually replacing the anguish. “What do you mean?” he inquires after a pregnant silent. “You did find something.”

She has either said too much. Or too little.

Before she can open her mouth to deny or confirm his suspicions, Ben points in the direction of the desk.

“It’s been singing since you appeared. What is it?”

Her mouth gapes in surprise. Ben’s perceptiveness will never cease to amaze her.

Surely, there’s no need to deny the truth now, he’s sensed the book’s calling as clearly as she did.

Rey nods.

“I found a book.”

“A book?” His gaze lit up with renewed interest. “What book?”

Should she really show him? He’s still convinced that all mentions of the Jedi should disappear. What if she allows him to touch the texts and the connection ends? What if he steals it? She can’t permit the Supreme Leader to run away and burn the only connection she has with the prime Jedi, can she?

“It was in the Temple’s library,” she continues in spite of herself—The alcohol loosens tongues, so it seems. “I took it before leaving Luke.”

Ben’s eyes wrinkles and his mouth purses in the closest thing to a smile she’s ever seen.

“You mean you stole it. You stole a sacred Jedi relic, and you ran away to join me.”

“It wasn’t like that!”

The dark clouds above their heads clear up.

“I wasn’t joining you, I was coming to rescue you,” she quips. “And I borrowed it,” she adds. “Big difference!”

Relief surges through Rey when she realizes this remark elicits another smile and not a grimace. She could get used to that big silly grin and the crinkles at the corner of his eyes. How long since Ben has shown that side of his personality to anyone?

“So, how enlightening is it?” he asks, half-mocking, half-interested.

Rey stands up.

“I haven’t finished translating it.”

“Oh?”

How easy it is to capture Ben Solo’s attention.

“Do you want to see it?” she asks impishly.

“Do you want to show me?” Ben responds in the same tone.

That is a good question if Rey is honest with herself.

“I’ll show you. But on one condition,” she says, holding her finger in the air.

Ben wrinkle his nose like a child asked to do his chores.

“What is it?”

“You touch with your eyes only.”

The right corner of his mouth rises, and a flash crosses his eyes. “Sounds like the theme of this party,” he jokes under his breath.

Rey pretends she didn’t hear that and picks up the _Aionomica_ as well as the datapad containing her notes. The book seems to hum its approval, a good sign under the circumstances. Perhaps Ben is right after all in thinking the Force needs his erudition. There are parts of the text she hasn’t figured out yet.

When she spins around, Rey realizes she’s facing a choice—to sit back on the chair or to sit next to Ben on the bed. While her conflicting instincts continue battling one another, arguing about the pros and cons of the situation, Ben remains silent, his gaze free to scan Rey’s body from tip to toe.

Somehow, she likes that glint in his eyes. That’s why she finally decides to sit down, next to Ben. It feels right like that, with her right hip and leg touching his so he doesn’t have to contort himself to read, and because she can no longer pretend she doesn’t crave his physical contact.

“You can have my notes,” she says, handing the datapad to him. “Don’t think about erasing anything, I made copies,” she warns him though he might still want to sabotage her work.

But Ben isn’t listening. His attention now entirely focused on the book she’s holding on her lap.

“Open it up,” he demands.

Happy to oblige, Rey opens the heavy binding and turns the first few pages. They contain illustrations and charts of no special importance although their beauty seeps through the parchment and she can’t help but marvel at the intricacy of the patterns and lettering.

“How did you manage to translate that dialect?” Ben asks genuinely interested.

A smile blooms on Rey’s face.

“See, those characters in red marked by a dot?”

Ben smiles in return. “You deduced they represented something important, something especially sacred,” he responds to which Rey can only nod in agreement, a large grin attached to her lips. “Yes! Exactly.”

Rey’s chest swells with something akin to pride and happiness. After all these months, it feels so good to discuss with someone who understands! Someone who actually listens. Unlike Finn and Chewbacca who growls as soon as she mentions her studies.

“How long did it take to find the first few letters, then?”

“An afternoon. Threepio helped, too. Once I wrote in basic and several other common languages the list of every possible word that could be deemed sacred by the first Jedi, I started comparing them to the text.” She turns another page. “See? This could be Jedi, Force or Temple for instance.”

Humming his approval, Ben leans in closer to look at the text, placing all his weight on his right arm behind her back. Rey’s index finger twitches on the book, and the pace of her heartbeats increases. She can feel his large hand splayed on the bed. The feather-light brush of his thumb against her ass awakens the butterflies. The muscles of the small of her back clench, sending a series of shivers down her spine _. Good shivers_. If that wasn’t enough to distract her, a rogue strand of his hair starts brushing her cheek, and for a second she’s tempted to place it back behind his ear. Instead, she bites her lower lip and shows another word.

“Constellation,” he reads confidently.

Of course he does. How annoying. And charming.

“You found an antique star map, so what?” Ben quips, devoting all his attention to Rey once more. She tries so hard to keep her eyes on the text now that she can’t actually see his eyes fixed on her but she can physically feel his gaze on her skin. “Is there anything else to that book?” he asks mischievously, putting even more of his weight on the bed so Rey slowly slides even closer to him. Rey gulps. “There’s a poem I’m having trouble with.”

The beating of her heart increased ten fold just confessing this information.

“A poem,” he repeats intrigued. “What sort of poem?”

“A poem about lo—” Rey strangles herself on the last syllable. Why is she struggling to say the word aloud?

“A poem about love,” she eventually manages to blurt out while darting her eyes to Ben. “I think,” she adds. “It’s confusing. That’s why I’m having trouble with interpreting it.”

“Let me see,” he says more seriously.

Without further ado, Rey opens the book to a page near the end.

“It’s that passage here,” she points. That word, I don’t know how to translate it.”

Once more, the _Aionomica_ purrs in the Force, forcing Ben’s attention to switch to its wonderfully colored pages. He squints and seem to think for a long time before something clicks. Without peeling his eyes off the parchment, he raises his right hand to his mouth and pinches the tip of his black leather glove between his teeth. In spite of herself Rey follows the gesture captivated. Without even thinking, Ben discards the glove besides him on the bed and hovers his long fingers above the page, where the words lie. “Can I?” He asks, aware he promised to touch with his eyes only.

Rey draws in a sharp breath, and nods. However, he doesn’t touch the page like she expected him to do. Instead he places gently his hand over hers and follows the lines.

“Two are one under the watchful eye”

“What was broken will be mended.”

“What was seamed will be torn,”

“In the eternally still whirlpool.”

Startled, Rey closes the _Aionomica_ and jumps to her feet feeling as dizzy as if her soul just made a jump through hyperspace. Queasiness and a sense of unfathomable dread replaced the nice fuzzy feelings she’s been experimenting so far.

There’s barely enough time to reach the fresher before puking the last of the alcohol she drank tonight, still clutching on the millennia old volume like her life depended on it.

* * *

 

**Some notes about the lore in chapter 3**

Rey is referencing to the manuscripts you can see in ‘The Art of The Last Jedi’. The 'key words’ are directly taken from the following pages. I simply extrapolated that characters in red had a special significance for the Jedi.

~~(As you can see, it is the same text repeated twice which is why I haven’t been arsed to try and crack the code myself yet.)~~

 

(Art by Chris Kitisakkul)

In the story I wanted to show how resourceful Rey is, and how she would work out the code herself. Threepio helping her out to decipher some more obscure parts wasn’t part of the plan in March when I outlined that chapter, but I had to mention it after issue 28 of Poe Dameron came out in June.

Writer: Charles Soule - Artist: Angel Unzueta

Lore wise it makes sense that Threepio who is 'fluent in over six million forms of communication’ will know at least some form of ancient Aurebesh - still, I found the idea of Rey working things out by herself more appealing.

**The name 'Aionomica’ was revealed in the novelization.**

_“The Aionomica, the Rammahgon, a dozen other mystic-sounding made-up names– the foundation of the ancient faith”_

—Luke Skywalker

The only reason I chose  _Aionomica_  over Rammahgon is because it sounds better.

Also, I don’t think it’s been confirmed by anyone but I’m 99.99% sure Aionomica is a fun reference to another famous fictional tome, HP Lovecraft’s Necronomicon.

'Aio’ meaning Tutor/Teacher we can perhaps translate it by the book of teaching? Or something like that? Anyone fluent in ancient greek who wants to chime in?

On the other hand Rammahgon has something Vedic about it. Haven’t really looked in to it too much though. 

**The poem**

As you can see, I’m disgustingly bad at poetry but so are the canon writers (sorry Charles!) All I’ll say is that it’s linked to the cave in the first chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it only took 7 months to find the mental space to work on that story. Thank you to anyone still subscribed.


	4. A promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end  
> Beautiful friend  
> This is the end
> 
> First of all, massive kudos and hugs to TehanuFromEarthsea and HarpiaHarpyja for being awesome betas on top of being two writers I love. Please make sure to check their pages.
> 
> Secondly, I hope this final part will not let you down. There is still space for an epilogue told from Ben's POV but I wanted to try and wrap up as nicely as possible Rey's side of the story. I love those characters so much so I will more than likely revisit this timeline in the future.

Rey slumps to her knees. The cold hard floor of the ‘fresher bites her skin before another mouthful of acidic bile escapes from her quivering lips. Stuck in an endless cycle, her wayward stomach heaves and lurches painfully until the very last of its contents joins the pool of frothy vomit at the bottom of the toilet bowl. When her shaky legs finally allow her to stand up, her first thoughts—other than splashing cold water on her clammy face and rinsing the rancid taste away—are of Ben.

If she wasn’t so stubborn she would admit she’s mortified their reunion ended so abruptly. Sure, the freedom fighter who is committed to defeat the First Order is relieved to know Kylo Ren is gone, yet, why is it so hard to extinguish the spark of hope that someday, somehow Ben will come back? It’s wrong and dangerous but she enjoyed seeing him again, feeling his presence and picking his brain.

The cool stream of water does little to clear her headspace. On the contrary. Not only does she remain clueless as to what-the-kriff the Jedi of old meant by _eternally still whirlpool_ , but she might have given the Supreme Leader a clue to work out the location of the Resistance! The ashen and disheveled reflection in the mirror scowls at that prospect.  

She’ll have to come up with a lie to order the evacuation. A white lie. Something small, something that Poe and the leaders of the Resistance will fall for; that she had a vision for instance. Or a dream! That she foresaw the First Order blasting the base. No one would dare to contradict Luke Skywalker’s student anyway. Especially not the ragtag band of believers Finn, Poe and Chewie rescued from an ambush last week. They’ll be more than happy to back up whatever mystical quest she’ll embark the Resistance on. Even the most skeptical officers started believing in the Force since they saw her lifting rocks on Crait.

They claim to put their faith in the Jedi to get rid of evil in the galaxy. Although, she’s not dumb. Most of them are simply desperate to recruit more saboteurs and spies in remote villages and mining colonies, and nothing better sells a life of hiding and danger than the tale of a lone Jedi battling an army and of his young apprentice who killed Supreme Leader Snoke after defeating his dark pupil, Kylo Ren.  

Yes, she’ll just need to locate a new base, then they’ll embark on another prophetic journey. More than likely, there are dozens—perhaps hundreds—of forgotten Imperial facilities around the Outer Rim. But then, what if the First Order works out that the Resistance has stopped looking for Rebel outposts to reclaim? They are the ones in possession of all the records from the Empire, surely they have access to the data. Oh, no! What has she done? She has doomed them all!

Her grip on the basin tightens. Rey feels lightheaded and not just from the aftermath of being sick. What if Luke and Snoke were right after all? That she has no place in that story? That she’s not the hero people believe she is—not the hero she wants to be?

Since walking out of the Supremacy she’s been so certain her existence has a purpose, that she’s an instrument of the Force, but what if she’s deluded? What if she’s been lying to herself and there is no greater purpose? What if Kylo Ren is right? What if she is indeed _no one_?

Bitter tears start pooling at the corner of her eyes. She can’t lie to Poe and the rest. She can’t look them in the eyes and pretend she had a vision. If she does, then the foundation of the new Jedi will be no more than pillars of sand, ready to crumble with the first gust of wind. She needs to tell the truth, explain what really happened, no matter the consequences.

Or—

There is another option. She straightens up and takes a deep breath in.

 _Leave_.

Leave the Resistance to find out where the cave haunting her dreams is located. Put a rest to the burning questions that remain. And maybe then, only then, will she will come back.

A shiver forces her to brush that foolish thought aside. She can’t just abandon her friends. It must be three in the morning by now and the ‘fresher is freezing as a tomb. She’ll sleep, and everything will be clearer in the morning. Yes, a few hours of slumber. That’s all she needs.

On the way out, Rey picks up the _Aionomica_. The binding is cold and inanimate after spending some time on the floor. Perhaps the book took offense to being so carelessly handled and discarded. It’s okay. Tomorrow it will start singing again—or the day after tomorrow. It isn’t the first time the book remains silent, and it won’t be the last.

The main lights must have gone off while she was sick, so Rey decides to keep the door of the ‘fresher ajar. A faint ray of light seeps into the darkened bedroom; just enough to navigate around the salvage without upsetting her swollen eyes. This has been the longest day since Leia passed away and Rey cannot wait to sprawl under the covers to forget about the party, about the sickness, and about Ben Solo. If only for a few hours.

Once she has made sure the _Aionomica_ is resting safely on the pile of documents that litter the desk, Rey shuffles to the bed, only to stop midway, blinded by a sudden flash of white pain. Her shin has collided with something solid and heavy, something she’s forgotten she had moved earlier—the kriffing chair!

An eerie feeling of déjà-vu creeps on Rey as her uncoordinated feet leave the ground and her arms flail helplessly for purchase. This time, even her Jedi reflexes won’t save her from the indignity of falling head first onto the mattress. Which is why, when a large hand grabs her wrist and pulls her down, the only sound to come out of her throat is a high-pitched cry of disbelief.

“You’re back,” Ben’s unvarnished voice comments as she plummets directly into his arms.

Bewildered, Rey needs to do a double take to ensure the large frame she slammed against isn’t a figment of her imagination, a hallucination born from her intoxicated mind. It’s not. Ben is back— or in all likelihood, was quietly waiting in the dark all this time.

The pounding of her heart accelerates. Panic? Relief? Hard to pick one when so many contradicting instincts are fighting for dominance on the battlefield of her awareness.

Without loosening his embrace, Ben gives her face a thorough examination. “You don’t look well.”

“Neither do you,” Rey shoots back, her tongue working on autopilot. She doesn’t mean it as an insult or a jab though; Ben does look faded and a bit slack around the mouth, as if he’s been sick or awakened by the ruckus. It wouldn’t be surprising if he had fallen asleep after all. How long did she spend in the ‘fresher exactly?

His gaze softens and Rey feels her cheeks reddening when she realises she’s sitting in his lap, one knee resting on the mattress, the other poised over his thigh. A small voice at the back of her mind—a vestige of her self-preservation instinct—tries to warn her. Not even her most daring dreams started this way.

The voice begs her to to stay vigilant in case Supreme Leader Ren is lurking somewhere under the skin of Ben Solo. But Rey quiets the voice, suddenly awash with gratitude and a singular sense of elation. The Force is giving them a second chance to mend broken ties. That’s why this is still happening, right?

Her fingers twitch on his shoulder and for a moment she marvels at the intricacy of his surcoat. She was correct. It _is_ made of Cyrene silk; incredibly soft to the touch yet long lasting and probably more comfortable than any of the rags she collected in the desert. A material fit for kings and queens. And if it wasn’t luxurious enough, minuscule dark gemstones are skillfully interlaced with the fabric. Every time Ben’s chest moves up and down, the precious stones shine and dance like the waves of Ahch-To under the moonlight.

His left hand slides boldly under the tank-top to sprawl against the small of her back and Rey notices he ungloved. His bare palm radiates a welcome and pleasant heat against her spine. She should object to the intimacy, but she doesn’t.

“I couldn’t see or hear you, but I knew you were unwell,” he says, a shy smirk attached to his lips. “My stomach turned too,” he adds, brushing a strand of wet hair off her forehead.

“Join me.”

The sound of her own voice surprises Rey. She didn’t plan— _mean_ —to say that aloud. Didn’t even _think_ as a matter of fact. Too late. The cacophony of her pounding heart is so loud her eardrums are about to rupture.

To her dismay, a flash of misery crosses Ben’s scarred face and Rey recoils, anticipating the grating sensation of his awareness to burn into her mind looking for an explanation. He doesn’t try to pry though. He stares at her motionless, eyes sad and adoring at the same time.

“I can’t,” he finally replies, hopelessness laced in his voice rather than the calculated callousness he used previously.

“Why not?” Rey prods, hoping for an honest answer. He’s free of Snoke and according to the Resistance’s intel, his reign as Supreme Leader is filled with internal strife and discontent. They should both leave. Find that cave. Find those answers. _Together._

“You could be free,” Rey whispers. “Don’t you see it?” She moves her fingers to brush the small expanse of flesh exposed under his ear. “The cave.”

A sad smile curls the corner of his mouth, but this time Ben closes his eyes and doesn’t reject her gentle touch. Pink blooms on his cheeks. “Rey, I think I know what is happening,” he says. His voice is low and restrained, as if he’s trying to focus on a mathematical equation to keep a cool head. His hand—that doesn’t seem to agree with his brain on the subject—tries to pull her closer.

Hoping to help him change his mind, Rey shifts on his lap to close the gap between them.

“You’re dodging the question,” she protests under her breath, moving her thumb to caress his jaw suggestively.

“I’m borrowing time,” he says before opening his eyes slowly as if he’s afraid she’s going to ebb away if his theory is incorrect.

Their eyes lock and his chest swells with what could be relief or joy. Either way, he captures her cheek gently and Rey doesn’t look away. The brush of his thumb on her parted lips sends sparks of anticipation right down to that spot of growing warmth between her thighs.

If he’s still pretending he doesn’t want to kiss her, he’s doing a very poor job. Not that she’s doing any better with her thumb exploring the moisture that formed at the corner of his left eye. It would take a lot of explaining if Finn or Rose were to open the door right now.

They remain transfixed, holding on to that moment for as long as they can. Heat radiates from their skin, blending into a cocoon that envelops both of them. The universe itself seems to come to a complete stand still and the night is mute apart from a faint buzzing of electricity running through the walls of the forgotten Imperial base.

Rey’s breath hitches in her throat. She should say something—anything—but words are lost. Ben’s head rocks gently as her index finger traces the pink smooth line that bisects his face. How strange that he never blamed her for branding him, not even once.

How long do they have before the rest of the base awakens? Before he remembers he is the ruler of the First Order who will never relinquish his power for a scavenger?

Rey chews on her lower lip and Ben’s nostrils flare. He seems to search for his words.

“Earlier,” he says eyes still locked with hers, “before you appeared. I could _feel_ you. It made me _angry_.”

An embarrassing hotness spreads on Rey’s cheeks at the evocation.    

“I was worried you were with someone else,” he adds. “That it was a trick.”

Against all odds, it’s not jealousy or outrage that Rey detects underneath Ben’s words. Solace, maybe? A question? He stays silent for a few seconds, observing her reactions. She’s not sure how to respond, though. Is he hoping she’ll confess it was the first time her fingers curled inside her at the thought of his cock? Because it wasn’t, so it can’t be the only reason the Force reunited them tonight.

“Do you understand the implication?” he inquires more seriously.

 _Yes_ . The way his hand supports the small of her back while she rubs the side of his neck gives her a pretty good idea of the implication. Nonetheless, Rey lips are sealed. Words are useless. Unlike aboard the Supremacy, there is nothing tonight to confess or admit that they both don’t know already. _She wants him and he wants her._

The smirk at the corner of Ben’s mouth blooms into a proper smile and Rey readies herself to find out what exactly it means to feel another human being.

His hand slides down her back to rest in the crook of her knee. Then, in one swift yet gentle movement he pivots and guides them both onto the bed. The old mattress bounces and creaks in distress, unhappy to support their combined weights.

Rey’s hand drops by her side because she’s not quite sure what to do with it just yet. In her dreams, it always seems so simple, so natural. In real life it looks a bit more complicated than that. Ben props himself on one elbow to watch her reactions. Their legs and hips tangle. Goosebumps of anticipation sprinkle her arms.

Before she can open her mouth to ask if he finally wants to kiss her, Ben flashes a knowing, almost impish smile. The tip of his nose brush against her cheekbone and Rey closes her eyes, enthralled by the sensation of his hot breath tickling her skin. The little hairs at the back of her neck stand as soon as his lips start tracing the curve of her ear. Whatever comes next she wants to etch his words into her memory.

“I like how you think, but you’re missing the bigger picture, Rey of Jakku,” he whispers in a low, suggestive voice that would melt the ice of Starkiller Base.

 _The bigger picture?_ Rey hasn’t read any of the romance holonovels Kaydel keeps raving about during lunchtime, but that doesn’t sound like the romantic declaration she was hoping for. She opens her eyes to shoot him a quizzical look and her heart sinks.

Ben watches her, head tilted sideways. The smile on his face has disappeared, replaced by a saddened expression. Then, as if he’s suddenly unable to withstand her stare any longer, he exhales a deep breath, collapses on his back, and burrows his face in the crook of his elbow.

“If we can feel pleasure, we can feel pain too,” he clarifies gloomily.

Rey winces. That still doesn’t explain why he keeps delaying the inevitable. They’re not about to wrestle. _Are they?_

If they’re not supposed to elope to the far end of the galaxy, far far away from their respective factions after tonight, then why is the Force still connecting them?  

“I was going to kill him,” Ben finally announces. The gentleness is gone, replaced by glacial hatred.

“Who?” she asks, unsure she wants to hear the truth. “The man you thought was with me?”

Perhaps the nagging voice was right after all. Perhaps Supreme Leader Ren cannot be trusted.

Rey sits up, heart banging against her ribcage and before she can really think of what she’s doing, her hand has summoned the holster that hangs above the bed. The blaster Han gifted her blinks into her palm, at the ready.

“No. Hux.”

The name seems to grate his tongue more than usual.

Rey sighs a small sigh of relief then glance at the weapon and shrugs. What was she going to do with that, exactly?

“I was ready to die,” Ben continues flatly. “Until you appeared.”

She’s glad he can’t see the worried look she shoots him. There is a sudden shift in his voice as if there is more to his confession. It’s not just about getting rid of Hux.

“If they torture me or kill me, you will hurt too. I can’t let that happen.”

Rey drops the blaster to grab his wrist and forces him to move the arm covering his face. She needs to look at him in the eyes.

“Ben? What do you mean, what’s going on?”

Ben remains frustratingly silent for a moment, his timeless gaze focused on the ceiling. His jaw works as if he’s debating speaking his mind.

“I’m trapped, Rey.”

She squints. Ben Solo really needs to work on his communication skills. He can’t drop information like this and expect her to follow his train of thoughts, especially not tonight. “Do you mean metaphorically?”

At least the remark elicits a sad smile, which helps Rey feeling a little less uneasy. Ben sits up and pulls his legs under him so they can face each other. The gemstones of his surcoat gleam with each deep breath.

“No,” his voice hardens, but she can tell his anger isn’t directed at her. “They made me a prisoner.” The muscle in his shoulders flex as if saying those words aloud opened a door—a door leading to a path only _he_ can follow.

Ben leans closer and reaches out, eyes now burning with passion and hunger. His palm presses on her cheek, hot and strong and Rey closes her eyes shut, waiting for him to move or say something. To her dismay the comfortable warmth of skin-to-skin contact dissipates, replaced by a shiver-inducing feeling of impending doom. She wants to scream but her head starts spinning like a TIE fighter that is missing a wing, and she gasps for air, scared and confused. The universe seems to expand around them at an incredible pace.

Ben must experience it as well because his eyes blink with discomfort. Their nose touch but she can’t feel his breath or his warmth on her skin anymore. The tightly knitted bond is started to unravel, one thread at a time. They don’t have much time before it sunders.

“Where are you?” she asks panicked.

But Ben doesn’t seem to hear. Or doesn’t want to respond.

“Don’t worry,” he says with a devious smirk that should raise the air at the back of her neck but fills her instead with hope. She’s seen that look on somebody’s face before; his father’s.

“They won’t succeed, not if that means—”

She can’t believe he’s being so stubborn.

“Ben Solo, tell me where you are!” she interrupts. They don’t have much time and they can’t waste it on reckless expression of bravado. “We can help you! The Resistance. If I explain, we can storm the place, take down Hux. Save you!”

It’s more complicated than that. She knows it is, but she doesn’t care even if it makes her sound as naive as when she locked herself into an escape pod. Hope is all she ever had.

Ben chuckles. It’s not a derisive laugh though. When his eyes focus on Rey again, they spark with devotion and— compassion. “Is that a threat?” he quips.  

Rey snorts, fighting back the tears of frustration that have started to form at the corner of her eyes. The dip in the mattress where Ben is sitting slowly fills as he becomes weightless again. “No, a promise,” she smiles.

Ben opens his mouth to speak, and she thinks his lips move to form the words ‘thank you’ but before any sound can travel through space, the Force disconnects them.

“No!” she whimpers. He can’t vanish like that. She won’t allow it!

Rey jumps to her feet and flicks the lights on. She needs to depart as soon as possible.  It doesn’t matter if she wakes everyone in the middle of the night.

Running from a pile of clothes to another she picks up her things and dresses in a hurry. She’ll need the books, her notes... And a ship! She can convince Poe and C’ai Threnalli to let her to borrow a transport. There’s a U-55 loadlifter that no one needs anymore waiting in the hangar bay. Unless Chewbacca came back from his latest run? Then she’ll pilot the _Falcon_ instead.

What about Finn and Rose though? Will they offer to accompany her if she wakes them up? She can’t ask them to risk their lives to save Kylo Ren. They don’t know Ben. It’s insane. _She’s insane._

It’s worth trying, though.

She scans meticulously the small bedroom to make sure she packed everything. Her boots are in the fresher, which means the only thing she needs to do is to strap her holster, grab her lightsaber and her quarterstaff and wake everyone up or leave like a thief in the night.

She spots the leather harness and dives toward the bed, fishing for the blaster she dropped earlier.  Most likely, it landed near the pillow. Or so she thought.

_Blast!_

She doesn’t have time to waste! Despite her frantic search the weapon is nowhere to be be found. Her face scrunches with irritation until her gaze falls upon something among the bedding. Her heart skips a beat. With her shaky hand she reaches out, afraid it’s going to vanish if she picks it up but her fingers eventually close around black crisp leather. Holding Ben’s glove. Rey bursts out laughing and flops onto the creaky mattress, allowing the stress of the past minutes to dissipate. At least now she has a small idea of where the blaster disappeared.

The _Aionomica_ starts singing in the Force again and Rey suddenly knows that she’s not alone. Somewhere, out there, Ben Solo readies himself for battle.

The corner of her mouth turns into a sad yet hopeful smile.

“Nerf herder! You don’t have to do it alone,” she murmurs, rolling onto the side and bringing the glove to her face.

Perhaps it’s true what they say; the jogan fruit never falls far from the tree. Stubborn and reckless like Leia and Han—

“Ben Solo.”

Rey finally closes her eyes and drifts asleep peacefully with the confidence that they’ll see each other again, in a dream or in a crystal cave.

 

THE END

* * *

 

**Some notes about the lore of chapter four.**

From Wookipedia: 

 **"Cyrene silk**  was a luxurious fabric favored by the monarchy of Naboo. Queen Padmé Amidala's Foreign Residence Gown was made of black cyrene silk."

(We're talking about this dress)

I chose this specific fabric to link Ben to his grandmother, but also because that dress has an interesting signification. 

(Still from Wookiepedia)

"This dark, somber dress was adopted by Amidala during her stay in Senator Palpatine's quarters on Coruscant, following the Invasion of Naboo. The black dress was befitting of the gravity of her situation, and served to subtly acknowledge Amidala's separation from her people." 

Sure, Ben and Padmé are not "separated from their people" for the same reasons but I liked the implication of "mourning."

 **Regarding the gemstones** , as far as I know, there is no canon equivalent but I got the idea from the TLJ visual dictionary that mentions that Kylo Ren is wearing a "static-damping cape" (presumably to protect himself from Snoke). 

So my headcanon is that the gems act as a protective layer. Perhaps they stop blasters or they create a discreet enough force field? Basically, it's the equivalent of wearing one of those expensive bulletproof suits dodgy millionaires and mobsters wear, except that Kylo needs to protect himself from Hux.

This is a **jogan fruit**.They're cute, and they are the only SW fruit I knew were growing on trees. XD


	5. Bonus - Illustration by Nemling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy this wonderful illustration by the talented Nemling. <3  
> My partner wanted to offer me something special for Valentines so I asked for a commission of a blushing Rey, distracted by Ben's erotic ungloving in chapter 4 (Rey is all of us, here).
> 
> Although this story has ended, a whole new story told from Ben's POV will come. Thank you again to anyone who left a lovely comment or subscribed!

 

Make sure to follow [Nemling's Tumblr page](http://nemling.tumblr.com/)


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